Fade into Oblivion
by mm235678
Summary: "Corypheus…does he command an army of dragons?" "Not a whole army, thankfully- just one." "…Inquisitor? I'm quite good at slaying dragons."
1. Chapter 1

They told her not to do it. Many times the Greybeards had warned her not to practice magic on the Time Wound.

But yet, there she stood, transfixed by the illusion it cast unto the air atop the Throat of the World. The bitter breeze whipped around the honeyed locks of the Dovahkiin as she tentatively reached out a hand. She wagged one finger through the rift, then two. Nothing happened. She was still intact.

As she thought of the Greybeards warning, she scoffed to herself realizing how foolish it was. Here was she- the Last Dragonborn, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Nightingale of Nocturnal, Thane to every Hold in Skyrim, among other things- listening to the empty warnings of men who sought to put a leash on magic- on _her_ magic – simply because they could not comprehend its magnitude.

At one time, Paathurnax would be there to stop her from tampering with the Time Wound. But Paathurnax was dead. She had killed him in a rash decision after a talk with Delphine. Did she regret it? Perhaps. He was an immeasurably wise dragon, but he was also a member of the order trying to restrain her powers. She felt his soul inside her, sometimes. It bubbled amongst her own. She had absorbed it along with so many others, but his soul refused to stay quiet. He was not angry; instead, his voice still whispered to her, coaxing her to do good in the world. He would make her feel remorse after cleaning a Solitude mansion clean of its valuables, or fishing the gold from a peasant's pocket. She had become very good at ignoring it.

She would not be leashed like a common mutt. She was part dragon, and thusly, she would fly wherever she wanted. Akatosh himself had given her this power, and she would be a fool to not use every drop of it. She was constantly on the hunt for ways to expand her power, to push the boundaries even more. The Eye of Magnus had been satisfying for a week or so, but her ambition always brought her back to the Throat of the World. Magic had been used here once before- she tapped into the visions of an Elder Scroll to learn how to defeat Alduin. And after she had slain the World Eater, a following of dragons had met here to acknowledge her as the true wielder of Akatosh's power- not Alduin.

Not another moment would be wasted. Raising her Nordic hands humming with mana, she let loose the most powerful conjuring spell she could muster, hoping to draw in something, anything at all, from within the corners of time.

The world began to stretch. She could feel the waves of time running through her veins. Valor calls from long dead warriors rippled off her back, the touch of Oblivion heatwaves ignited her hands, and the snows of a thousand winters chilled her bones. But she couldn't locate a life force, or even a spirit force for that matter, to pull from time and drag into the present.

She pushed herself further, physically forcing herself into the Wound. Her focus was razor sharp. Nothing could distract her.

Except when she stumbled upon the moment in time of her husband's death.

 _"Kyra, get behind me!"_

 _"Argis, stop. I can handle this, please, just go inside!"_

 _"You walk into danger every day. I'm going to return the favor and save you for once. Go inside, love. I'll be right there. It's all under control."_

 _He turned to look at her for a moment. The citizens of Markarth were running rampant around him, and five guards were aiming at the golden dragon above him. He was about to join them, his Warhammer gleaming in his hand, but he wanted to look at the beauty of his wife, the Dragonborn, to give him strength. Gods, she was beautiful. Even when she was worried, her eyes never lost their sapphire sparkle. He had watched dragons rip at her armor; he had seen her dance with death. And every moment of it had killed him._

 _He loved her. Truly, deeply loved her. He had told her many times: the first was at Deep Folk Crossing, when he first saw her magic strike down a rouge thief who failed quite miserably to sneak up on them. The second time was when he kissed her upon her return to Markarth. That was when she said she loved him too. He married her within the week, and he had told her how he loved her countless times more over the journey to Riften._

 _"I love you, Kyra," he said again. Her cobalt eyes were knit in concern, but he smiled at her. When the dragon was dead, he would pluck bones from its corpse, arrange them in a sort of bouquet, and present it to her. She was never one for flowers-she would love dragon bones, though. It was beyond cheesy, but Argis was a cheesy sort of man._

 _He noticed his love start to scream in terror, though. And he wasn't quite sure why. He wanted to run to her, console her, make the screams stop. But he could not move his legs, for it was as if he was consumed by a powerful heat of love._

 _But it wasn't love's heat consuming him. Kyra watched helplessly as the dragon spit a fireball at the love of her life. Her world stood still. She could do nothing but watch as his beautiful skin blackened and fell from his body, as his loving eyes melted down his face, as his melodic voice screamed out one last note._

 _The dragon was never slain. It flew away only a few moments after Argis lost his life._

 _That was the moment she decided to use her powers to the full extent of her ability. She would find a way to bring Argis back. She had too._

And here she way, trying desperately to use her knowledge of the arcane necromancy to bring her husband out from the depths of the Time Wound. However, watching her husband die a second time broke her focus. After a life of constantly being cheated and taken advantage of and cast aside, Argis was the first to ever truly care for her, and she was not letting him go. Screaming, she rushed towards the image of her husband's burnt corpse, hoping she'd find a way to bring him back, but the currents of time tossed her about. She lost her footing, and was thrown into an unknown vortex which carried her across time, across the planet, and across the universe. The Dovahkiin could only scream and she was thrust into the unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

-Chassidy Trevelyan-

"Welcome back, Inquisitor," saluted a soldier as I made my way into Skyhold's courtyard. All I could offer back to him was an attempt at a smile. The forces of the Inquisition were a day or so behind me and companions. We had just recruited the Grey Wardens into our ranks, but the process was…horrifying. I tried to push the thoughts from my head, but the more I pushed, the more they resurfaced. All I could see in front of me were the midnight scales of the dragon as they ripped apart Adamant Fortress like parchment; the flash of green as we had been swallowed by the Fade in a final attempt to stay alive; the massive hulking demon that in the end claimed Stroud as Garrett Hawke had practically dragged me from the Fade.

It had been on my mind throughout the entire march across Orlais, and it was still on my mind as I climbed into my bed. The sun said that it was only mid-afternoon, but my body told me that it was deep into the night. I had sought no one to speak to upon my return-I was simply in no mood for speaking. Even if the Commander had been here, I probably wouldn't have sought him out until the morning.

No, that wasn't true.

I remembered the look pure relief that had washed across Cullen's face when we were reunited. After he had issued orders to the soldiers about helping to prepare the Grey Wardens for departure to Skyhold, he had found me sitting alone on a piece of rubble, staring as the green lights of my hand flickered and jumped from finger to finger.

"It wasn't your fault," he had said while sitting himself down next to me. "The Wardens are taught to make sacrifices. It was his duty."

"We could have run!" I said stubbornly, still staring intently at my hand.

"That could have made it worse," said the Commander. His hand was on mine, examining its power just as intently as I was.

I said nothing. I refused to believe that his words were true.

"It glows when you're afraid," he remarked as his fingers danced over my palm.

The intensity of the light dimmed as I was flushed with a warm feeling. "I…hadn't even noticed that," I said, astonished. It was true, nevertheless. Fear had illuminated the mark on many occasions; when Cassandra had threatened to kill me upon our meeting, when Corypheus had deemed it my time to die, and, most recently, when I was hurled into the abyss on Adamant.

"You don't need to be afraid, Chassidy," he whispered as his arms wrapped themselves around me. I hadn't even noticed that I was now crying in his lap like a baby to its mother. For a few moments, we sat there as I fought the tears and he wiped them away. But my thoughts still lingered on his words…  
"Cullen?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I think…I think that was the first time you addressed me by my name. Not 'Inquisitor', or 'Trevelyan', but by Chassidy…thank you,"

"Why are you thanking me?'

"Because when you call by my titles, I feel like I have to represent something else to you…like I have to _be_ something else. It's nice to be reminded that beneath the Inquisition, I'm still myself. I'm still Chassidy, and I want you to see me that way."

"I see," he said as he brushed a streak of golden hair gently out of my eyes. I looked up at him, into those beautiful amber globes. That was the moment my hand stopped glowing. We sat there for nearly an hour, just the two of us silently getting lost in each other's eyes and ignoring the world around us.

With that happy thought in mind, I drifted off into a restful sleep.

"Inquisitor, I…I have been thinking. You remember everything now, yes?" asked the Spymaster with a note of sadness that I had never heard from her before. "The explosion at Haven, the Fade, escaping the Breach? In your report, you said Justinia was with you, but only you emerged in the end …why? " Leliana was genuinely confused as she implored, "Why were you the only survivor?"

I recalled the ghostly figure of the Divine ordering me to run as the demons held her back. I had tried to reach out to her, but I had failed. I told her, "She knew it was either her or me, and she wanted me to live."

Leliana sighed sadly. "Of course…of course she did. That's just like her. Her message to me…'I failed you too'…I'm not sure I understand what that means." I remembered how confused and hurt she had looked when I delivered the message to her upon my waking. It seemed she still was just as confused.

"Did she say anything else? Anything at all?" Her eyes sparkled as her voice waivered, trying to fight back the tears as she begged, "Please, if you remember…."

"Wait," I said, confused. "You don't know what she meant either?"

"There are no answers in the Fade," she whispered with regret as she rose from her chair and began to pace towards her altar. "Only illusions…a warped mirror. Justinia has _never_ failed me." At this point, she was talking to the altar, and I got the feeling her voice was directed at something far greater than myself.

"I was her Left Hand. And now she is dead. _I_ failed her."

Before I could speak any words of comfort, a sudden outcry from the courtyard below signaled the arrival of the rest of the Inquisition. Soldiers began to tiredly pour into the courtyard, and some of the new Grey Warden recruits stared amazed at the towering turrets of Skyhold that rose before them. I caught sight of my Commander watching them all flock in under his careful gaze. I longed to go talk to him again.

"I see that they have returned," said Leliana, breaking her attention away from the altar. "You should go down and see them, Inquisitor. I'm sure there are many who want to deliver their thanks."

I left, but not to see the soldiers. Instead, I made my way to the battlements, right in Cullen's line of sight. It was our meeting place. We would slip out at evening to talk about our troubles and watch the recruits and kiss under the warm rays of sunset.

I managed to catch his attention, and within several minutes he was by my side. We were alone, just the two of us, watching the birds fly amidst the snowy peaks of the mountains.

"I was so afraid that I had lost you," he whispered as he slowly made his way behind me and his protecting arms wound themselves around my waist. "When the soldiers claimed that you had fallen into the Fade…I thought that was it."

"I would never leave you, Cullen." I said, leaning into his warm embrace.

"Sometimes, Chassidy," he said. I shivered as he said my name. "We cannot keep those promises. But that is for another day."

I leaned into him as his lips locked with mine, and the whole word melted away. I would gladly trade all of my responsibilities to the world to just remain in his embrace for eternity.

But as always, there was something more.

A flash of light caught my eye from the distance as we were walking back to his quarters.

"Perhaps a mage recruit?" he asked, although we both got the feeling there was something else going on here. As we walked closer, my nerves began to prickle and my hand flashed green, humming with energy from the Fade. The green light from it illuminated a crumpled figure on the stone floors of the battlements.

"By the Maker, who is that?" Cullen gasped as he ran to check on the figure. Lifting up a robe, I caught a glimpse of her unfamiliar face. She was a maiden of about twenty, I assumed. Her likeness was extremely similar to my own; pale skin that was as tanned as pale skin could get, a full rose blossom of a mouth, and beautiful blonde hair that whipped her gaunt-looking face in the breeze. Even in this state, she was strikingly beautiful. Not in the typical good-looking manner that women all across Orlais styled themselves after, but in a fierce way.

Her armor looked to be made of pure ebony. Cullen's eyes were drawn to it like mine were drawn to her face. It was flawlessly crafted to look like a dragon's scales. Each piece coiled flawlessly around her body. Her form was strong, yet womanlike. I could tell that she was definitely not a full-time warrior like myself, but I could tell by her triceps that she knew very well how to use a sword. Her body was crackling with green magic, similar to the magic from my hand. Very carefully, I reached down to feel for a pulse. _One…two…_ her neck was very cold. But there was still life in her. It was very faint, but present nonetheless.

"She's alive," I said to Cullen. "Can you carry her down to the infirmary? Tell them to care for her right away!"

"Of course, Inquisitor," said the Commander as he hoisted the limp body of the girl onto his shoulders. As I watched him make his way quickly and carefully down the battlements, my hand started to crackle.

 _Something is definitely not right about this,_ I said to myself, agreeing with the mark for once.


	3. Chapter 3

The savior of Skyrim woke with a start and looked around wildly.

The settings were unfamiliar. She was tucked in a makeshift cot inside a canvas tent, and sounds of nature sang in her ears. She could remember the Time Wound, and finding Argis again, but after that…she could not remember anything. Perhaps it was Falkreath; it sounded like Falkreath. She was well-known all throughout Skyrim as a hero; surely someone had found her and nursed her back to health.

She was so lost in her thoughts of her own heroics that she failed to notice the Mer standing before her.

"Oh good, you're awake!" she said in an unfamiliar accent. In fact, the Dovahkiin was unsure of what kind of elf she was looking at. The elf was shorter, like a Bosmer, but had ivory skin like the long-extinct Falmer. If she had not known better, she may have believed that she was transported back into the time of the Falmer, but it would be in a very cold setting if they had. This place was much too warm for her liking. "I'll fetch the Inquisitor, she was worried about you!" chimed the elf as she ran out.

" _Wen sahsun_? Where am I?" she called after the elf, but her cries went unheard. She got up to follow the elf, but as soon as she tried to put pressure on her legs, a coursing pain ran through her body. Focusing on the source of the pain, she pinpointed a tear in her femur tendons. It was nothing that a simple healing spell couldn't fix. Focusing on drawing life out of the grass and into herself, she placed her hands on her thigh and began to summon the butterscotch light.

But nothing happened.

It was odd, she thought. This was a spell that she had performed thousands of time in battle. She knew how to do it, but she must have been doing something wrong. Perhaps she had gotten a bump on her head through the way out of the Time Wound. No matter, she would relearn it momentarily.

But still, nothing happened. She tried numerous times to just summon the light to appear between her frail fingertips, but no light ever showed itself.

"TAHROVIN!" she roared in frustration as she leapt up in a flash. Ignoring the searing pain, she stormed right out of the tent and into another woman. Both of them jumped back, startled.

"I'm sorry!" apologized the woman as she tried to keep her footing. Kyra was appalled by how similar this woman looked to herself. Her features were gentle, like an Imperial, but her skin and hair were as fair as any Nord. Her curvaceous figure stood a good three inches above her own, and her muscles were much larger than the Dragonborn's. This did not intimidate her, however. That meant that this woman only knew the trade of a warrior; Kyra was not only a master of the blade but also a child of the shadows. Not to mention, most prominently, the greatest mage in Tamriel.

The woman spoke again. She, also, had an unrecognizable accent. "Are you feeling alright? You've been unconscious for three days."

Kyra should have been astonished by that fact, but instead her gaze was drawn to the turrets of the towering castle in front of her. It was breathtakingly beautiful; far superior to the Blue Palace of Solitude. How could a place as grand as this exist without her knowledge?

"What is this place?" demanded the Dovahkiin.

The woman blinked, obviously taken back by her brashness. But she also looked confused, as if Kyra was supposed to know this place. "This is Skyhold…" she said matter-of-factly. "Fortress of the Inquisition. I am the Inquisitor, Chassidy Trevelyan. Where are you from?"

Kyra scoffed. The arrogance of this girl, asking who _she_ was. "Do you truly not know?" she asked dramatically.

Raising an eyebrow, the woman shook her head.

The Nord was outraged. "I am the Dovahkiin; the Dragonborn!"

If anything, this made the self-proclaimed 'Inquisitor' more confused.

"Are all the occupants of this castle as ignorant to the world as you? You stand before your savior. I am the slayer of the World-Eater Alduin! Legate of the Imperial Legion! Archmage of the College of Winterhold! Thane to each of the nine holds of Skyrim! Harbinger of the Companions! Leader of the Dawnguard! Nightingale of Nocturnal! Do you truly have no idea?"

"It's like you're speaking a different language," chuckled the arrogant _bron_

 _" ONE WILL DUKAAN DOVAHKIIN!"_ Kyra was furious. Her weapons were gone, and somehow this woman had stolen her magic. It was intolerable, and they would kneel to their rightful savior She was stripped of her weapons, useless with magic, but she still had command over one power that they could never take away….the Thu'um.

" **FUS RO DAH**!"

It was a deep, guttural roar. Kyra boomed each of the powerful words like weapons straight from her lungs. However, the shout had knocked the wind out of her. Gasping for air, she fell to her knees. But something was still standing in front of her. Ever so slowly, Kyra raised her eyes.

The same woman looked down on her; unmoved, unbroken, and unimpressed.

Behind her ran up another man who shouted, "By the Maker! Inquisitor, what is going on?"

No one spoke. Kyra's blood ran cold as she came to terms with the fact that these people had stripped her powerless. She would have to give in. The Imperials had taken her prison once before; she would have to be taken captive again.

"Isubmittoyou," she breathed out in an inaudible whisper. Her knees gave out from the sudden weakness, and she crumpled to the ground.

"What did you say?" asked the Inquisitor. In her full strength, Kyra would have been outraged at such shame of repeating herself, but she knew that the woman truly did not know what she had said.

"I said that I submit to you. You have bested me. _Zu'u gahvan, morokei kroniid."_

Looking up, the Dragonborn expected to see the woman with her sword drawn. Instead, the only thing drawn was her hand. It was extended to Kyra. She was offering aid.

"Why don't you come with me," she whispered kindly. "We can talk in private."


	4. Chapter 4

-Chassidy Trevelyan-

"Skyrim is the northernmost province," said the girl as she sipped her tea. We were sitting at the desk in my quarters, and had told me about how she had arrived here: her desire to bring back her husband from the dead had drawn her to a powerful rift in time itself, but her magic had failed and thrown her across the universe. Supposedly.

I'd managed to calm her down after a few minutes of her screaming at me. Normally, I would have sent her to the cells for such an outburst, but I had seen that unusual flash of light. Something strange was at work here. She and I both sensed it; fortunately, we were also both diplomatic enough that we sensed talking it out would be the best means to an explanation. Now, her rage turned to civility, and she told me her story.

"It's where I was born, originally. My father was a bastard son of the High King Istlod. He was sent away at a young age with his mother. She later died, and he joined the Thieves Guild. That's where he met my mother. They ran away together, back to the outskirts of where my father was born. They built a shack in the marshes. Money wasn't a problem; thieving makes you surprisingly rich, if you're good at it. But then I came along. My birth was an accident, but my father didn't have the heart to leave me to die. So they planned to leave the life of outcasts and demand a place amongst the nobility with my father's birthright after the King died, but rumor spread, and someone at the castle hired a mercenary to have my father killed. The mercenary spared me and my mother. We fled to Cyrodiil, which is home to the capital of Tamriel. We lived as beggars, surviving only off of thieving until I was around twelve. Then a guard tracked us down. But my mother made a deal with the guardsman and sold me to him as a slave in exchange for a few coins. For four years, I was like a toy for the guards. They locked me in the barracks of the basement and did…unspeakable things to me. It was in the fourth year that one of them left behind his dagger. That night, when all the guards came in drunk, I murdered every last one of them. I escaped into the city and found my mother. I slit the bitch's throat, took all of her belongings, and ran to Skyrim. However, when I crossed the border, I walked right into a trap. My country was in the midst of a civil war. A usurper named Ulfric Stormcloak had killed the king, and I walked right into an ambush with the king-slayer himself. The Imperials bound my hands and took me to their military keep. I was supposed to be executed, but moments before the axe came down, a dragon swooped down from the sky and destroyed the town. _Saviik nol fin lok,_ ironically. I was lucky to escape with my life. A few days later, one of the soldiers I escaped with sent me to one of the Jarls, a lesser king, and somehow I ended up being sent to retrieve this old relic that had to do with the rebirth of the dragons. When I came back, a dragon was attacking the city, so I went and fought it. When we defeated it, it cursed the 'Dragonborn' and I literally absorbed its life essence. One of the survivors had heard a legend that the Dragonborn could inherently speak the Dragon language. The legend was true; _Dovah tinvaak lahney ko Zu'u._ I was summoned to a monastery where a group called the Greybeards taught me about how to master this power. You see, the dragon language is so powerful that even the smallest of words can be put together to become vicious attacks. When I shouted at you, earlier, technically, you should have been thrown into the air like a ragdoll. But this place...Thedas, you said….it doesn't work by the same rules Skyrim does. Here, I'm just another commoner. But in these past few minutes, I've found peace in that fact. This world, this place…it's done something to my state of mind. My power made me arrogant and bitter, but now that it is gone, so is my rage. One feeling still remains, however, and that is my sense of loss. I could not find my husband in my own world, but perhaps I will find him in yours. Setting out to find him would be much easier to do once you've dealt with the trouble here. I wish I could be of aid to you, Inquisitor. This Corypheus seems like a very serious threat, but I'm afraid that I cannot do much without my powers. If there is any way that I could possibly recover them, I will stay and help you. Honestly though, I have little choice in the matter, seeing as how I have no idea how to return to Tamriel. Fate certainly seems out to doom everyone, me more than ever. "

Before I could reply to her heartbreaking story, a messenger burst into the room. "Your Worship," he said nodding politely. "Ambassador Montilyet has requested your presence immediately."

I sighed. "Tell her I will be there shortly." The messenger bowed, and marched out of the room.

I turned back to the Dragonborn. Her sparkling eyes had lost their fierce gaze. Now, they looked pleading. "Do you believe me?" she asked.

I nodded. How could I not? I had watched her trying to perform magic. Cullen had warned me that she could be a blood mage, but I refused to believe it. Blood mages weren't that good of actors. She sighed with relief upon my nod, but then asked, "Where shall I stay?"

I thought for a moment. "I believe there is an empty room above the gardens. I can have some soldiers fix it up for you. I have something to attend to at the moment, but I promise that you will be taken care of."

Kyra (she had asked me to call her that since she felt her Dragonborn status was of no relevance) smiled gratefully. I shook her hand and turned to leave. "There is a library filled with books on the other side of the castle," I told her. "You sound like a smart girl. Maybe you'll enjoy learning about Thedas. Talk to Dorian if you're interested. He's the one with the moustache. You'll know him when you see him. I have to attend to something right now, but we shall speak later."

She wordlessly nodded, and cast a forlorn look out into the sky before standing up. I wondered if the sky was a welcoming sign for her. After all, it sounded as if our worlds were strikingly similar.

After leaving my quarters, I pointed her in the direction of the library, and then made my way into the Josephine's room.

* * *

"I've made some inquiries into the Imperial court," said Josephine as soon as her eye landed on me. "The sooner we deal with the threats to the empress, the better. The political situation in the empire is dangerously unstable. It will complicate matters."

" _Everything_ in the empire complicates matters," scoffed Cullen as he made his way out of the war room. I smiled at him as he made his way over to Josephine's desk. With one hand, he reached down to examine the papers in front of Josephine. The other hand intertwined with mine in front of the desk, out of the Ambassador's view. It lasted only a few seconds, but I was still impressed. Cullen was very embarrassed about rumors of his personal life, and he tried to hide our relationship. I did not object to it; in fact, I agree. But this public display was a big jump for him. I tried to hide my girlish giggles when he added, "It's the Orlesian national pastime."

"You can turn your nose up at the grand Game if you'd like, Commander," said Sister Leliana, making her way over to the desk as well. "But we play for the higher stakes…and to the death."

Josephine nodded in agreement. "The court disapproval can be as great a threat as the Venatori. We must be vigilant to avoid disaster."

"Don't worry, Josephine," I said. "We'll protect the empress no matter what."

She nodded gravely. "I pray you're right. If your vision of the future at Redcliffe comes to pass, the death of the empress heralds the destruction of everything. Orlais holds Tevinter at bay. All of Thedas could be lost if the empire falls to Corypheus. Celene is holding peace talks under the auspices of a grand masquerade. Every power in Orlais will be there, it's the perfect place for an assassin to hide!"

"Does Celene know about the threats against her? Can we send word?" I asked. If she did, things would be so much easier.

Apparently, she and I had been on the same track. "I've sent letters to the empress, but it is impossible to tell whether she's received them. We have enough power after Adamant to secure an invitation to the ball."

"Then why are we still here?" asked Leliana.

Josephine looked nervous. "Inquisitor, I too would be happy to go as soon as possible, but we've all heard word about the new…'member' of the Inquisition. Can you trust her?"

I began the long process of explaining Kyra to them; everything from her history to her titles to her utter confusion and helplessness. "If there is any way to have her powers returned to her, she would be an invaluable ally. For now, however, I trust her completely."

"I trust your word, Inquisitor," said Cullen.

"As do I," said Josephine. "Well then, are we ready to set off for the Winter Palace?"

"Give me until the morrow," I said. "I need to go tell Kyra what's happening…and pick out a pretty dress."

"About that…" started Josephine.


	5. Chapter 5

-The Dragonborn-

"If that is the case…then I suppose it is possible that the Fade of Thedas and the Oblivion of Tamriel are…connected, in a sense," spoke the mage, Dorian. He had shown her the books about the Fade and eagerly listened to her stories, trying to piece together the complex puzzle of her arrival. He had taken her downstairs to the chamber of an elf who claimed to have great knowledge of the Fade. They were currently trying to compose a theory.

"It may be possible to find a way to transfer her powers from Tamriel to Thedas. No one has ever recorded any 'boundaries' in the Fade, and according to our foreign friend here, Oblivion is infinite as well. I suppose the possibility that the two would intersect within a specific place in time is very possible. But we would need more proof to that claim…"

"Actually," interrupted the Dragonborn as she was suddenly reminded of a tale she had read long ago. The disease carried by the darkspawn, the Blight? We had something by the same name on Tamriel several centuries ago in Morrowind. The disease was connected with this sort of demon-god by the name of Dagoth Ur. Long, long ago, a race of elves called the Chimer lived on Tamriel, but their golden skin was turned dark and their eyes blooded red by the Daedric prince Azura. The Daedra originate in Oblivion, just like the darkspawn here originated from the Fade. Imagine them as the anti-Gods, or Maker, whatever you call it here. Anyways, before this transformation, Dagoth Ur was a trusted general to the god Nerevar. But afterwards, when his race was corrupted, he gained the power of the Gods…like the Archdemons here. That was when the Blight was released on Morrowind, and it killed thousands. But after Dagoth Ur was defeated by the Nerevarine, the Blight went away, and never came back."

"That is either complete coincidence, or the missing link," said Dorian as he looked back over a book on the Fade.

The elf, however, wasn't buying it.

"You cannot honestly believe this?" he snapped. "Think about it; we speak the same language, have the same skeletal structure, and many similarities despite a few small differences. What you call the missing links, I call nothing more than an enlightened imagination!"

"Did you miss the part where we determined that these worlds could be connected?" asked the mage.

"I have walked the furthest corners of the Fade myself! I have devoted my life to studying it! Based on years and years of research and experience, I'm telling you that this woman's story is false!"

"Oh, is that so? Did you find a sign that read 'THE FADE ENDS HERE' in big red letters?"

"You ignorant bastard!"

"ENOUGH!" roared the Dovahkiin. All eyes in the room turned towards her fearfully. Even Dorian, who was defending her, suddenly felt terrified. Her eyes seemed to glow as she lurched towards Solas. Despite the fact that she was half a head shorter than the elf, her dragon soul made it seem as though she towered over him.

"You dare to brand me a maleficar," she hissed. "And yet I could say the same to you. I could very easily decide that I was still in Tamriel, and that all of this 'Thedas' nonsense is an attempt to break my mind. It is a very plausible option. Many people would kill their families in an instant to so much as have a glimpse of the power I wield. Who's to say this isn't a trick on my end? I, too, have walked the planes of Oblivion. While I have found no signs of this 'Fade', I am not ignorant enough to deny its existence. If this truly is real, what is there for me to believe other than they must be connected?"

Solas opened his mouth, but she darted towards him like a dragon's claws.

"If you dare to insult me again, _tahrodiis fahliil,_ you will be the first to taste my power when it is restored."

Solas angrily drove the butt of his staff into the ground. "Dorian, if you want to believe this blood mage and doom us all, go ahead. Don't expect any assistance from me." 

Wordlessly, he halted in the doorway as another figure entered. It was the Inquisitor, Chassidy. She was dressed in a bright red suit with blue and yellow sashes and tassels. In his rage, he nearly toppled her over.

"I hope you haven't doomed us all, Inquisitor," he grumbled.

With his back turned, she raised an eyebrow at Dorian and the Dragonborn. Kyra looked as if she were about to kill someone, but Dorian seemed more taken aback by the Inquisitor's horrendous clothes than the argument.

"My, whatever is the occasion?" asked the mage with a playful wink as he walked towards her. Kyra could quickly tell that the two were good friends. It was hard to not want to be friends with this woman, though. She had an attitude that gave off a humble, yet important vibe. It made her relatable, like someone to confide every dark secret in and trust that she would not tell another soul. She envied that attitude. Upon her rise to importance, Kyra had become arrogant. Argis had unhardened her, but his death made her walls grow higher than ever. Friends were few and far in the world of the Dovahkiin…and now they were further than ever before.

"I'm heading off to the Winter Palace to deal with the assassin" she said before adding, "And to shock them all with my good looks, of course."

"Trevelyan, darling, the only shock they'll get is that color choice. Did your Cullen pick that out? The man can match any foe, but Maker forbid he matches a color scheme."

She laughed loudly and gave Dorian a goodbye hug. "If Cullen had picked out these outfits, he would have at least given me a dress, that's for sure." She turned her attention to the forlorn expression of the Dragonborn, her heart aching for the warmth of friendship that enveloped the Inquisitor in its loving grasp. "Will you look after him, Kyra?" she asked playfully. "If he annoys you, you have my permission to use one of those dragon-shout things."

"Oh, it's not me you should be worrying about her attacking, Inquisitor," he said, gesturing his head in the direction Solas had stormed off.

"Believe me, Inquisitor," she sighed sadly. "I would if I could."

Kyra shifted her gaze to the floor to admire the shining tiles as the Inquisitor whispered with her friend. She was so lost in her thought that she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt two arms wrap around her.

It was the Inquisitor. Hugging her. Not too tightly, and not so loose that it was awkward. It was a genuinely, caring hug. Kyra had only felt one hug like that, ever before in her life.

 _"I love you, Kyra."_

 _"Argis, you have no idea what that means. I don't want to endanger you. If you commit yourself to me, you will die. I care about you too much to see that happen."_

 _"You're wrong, my dear," he whispered as a calloused hand cupped her jagged cheek. The moonlight illuminated his eyes from beneath the ragged mane of chestnut hair whipping around from the breeze of the waterfall. He had first seen this beautiful place when they were crossing to a Forsworn camp, and he had sworn that he would take her here. "I will die if I am not with you every second."_

 _"Argis," her voice protested, but her body leaned into him. "You deserve better than me. I have never known love, I have never been loved, I cannot possibly give you what you deserve."_

 _"Your mother was a damned fool, Kyra." Her skin shivered at the passion in his voice. "You are a treasure, and deserve to be treated that way. I don't care that you are Dragonborn, I don't care that you are in the Thieves Guild, I don't care that-"_

 _"That I run the Dark Brotherhood?" she cried, instantly wishing that she hadn't. By the Gods, she was so stupid telling a thing like that to him. But he didn't deserve to love an assassin. She could have no heart, not when she constantly stole the heartbeats of others. He would leave any moment…why wasn't he leaving?_

 _"I don't care that you run the Dark Brotherhood, Kyra." The authenticity in his voice made her want to cry._

 _"Back in Cyrodiil, they told me that nobody would love me like they loved me. If I was quiet, they would tell me I was being a good girl. A few of them would tell me that they loved me after they had their way. If I cried, they would hit me and tell me that good girls don't cry." At this point, she was crying freely as the memories of darker days resurfaced._

 _"Kyra," he said, cradling her small figure in his arms. "If I had power like you, I would raise back those men from the dead again and again and devote every day of my life to killing them for you. That is how much I love you. You have been hurt too much in your life. Let me follow you. Let me kill those that want to hurt you. I want to see them bleed, Kyra."_

 _"I love you, Argis," she sobbed into his armor._

 _His arms wrapped around her, in that perfect embrace. "I love you, Kyra…Always."_


	6. Chapter 6

-Sister Nightingale-

 _To her Majesty Emilia Cousland,_

 _The Inquisitor informed me that she encountered King Alistair while dealing with the magister Alexius in Redcliffe. She noted that he seemed very serious and forlorn. I imagine that he must miss you just as much as you miss him. Nevertheless, he is safe. As for his kingdom, we are working on that._

 _While at Adamant Fortress, we recruited the Orlesian Grey Wardens into our ranks. I want to warn you, however, that Corypheus has created a fake Calling to frighten the Wardens into fighting for him. If you are hearing it, I pray that you ignore it. I hope that your investigation into the matter is going well, and I have no doubt in your capabilities._

 _We are departing soon to the Winter Palace of Orlais to investigate the threats on Celene, like I told you about in my last letter. However, strange things never cease to get in the way. Earlier this week, another Fade rift opened briefly and deposited a girl who claims to be some sort of demi-God. In her report, the Inquisitor stated that this self-proclaimed 'Dragonborn' by the name of Kyra has the blood of gods in her veins. I would not have thought this important enough to mention to you, however, until our mages here at Skyhold formulated a theory; that the Fade is infinite and connects her world to ours. If it seems crazy to you, that is because it is. But these are strange times, and I have come to accept all things, no matter how crazy they seem. If I learned one thing from my days with you during the Blight, it's that the Maker's plan, no matter how absurd it may seem, will lead to greatness._

 _I appreciate your concern for me regarding the death of Divine Justinia, but I assure you that I am fine. Losing her has taught me so much more about myself with each passing day. I am no longer the doe-eyed bard Marjolaine had be believe I was. I have seen worse things since the Blight, my dear friend. I look forward to the day that I can tell you about them._

 _To answer your question, no, I have heard no word from Morrigan. If this theory of connected worlds is plausible, perhaps she is far gone. A pity; we could use her knowledge greatly in these dark times._

 _I know you have your own duties to attend to, but I miss you. I miss the days when we would sit around the fire with Alistair and Zevran, and you would laugh at Zevran's jokes, which made Alistair jealous. Then, when you'd ask me to tell a story, I always noticed how Alistair would wrap his arm around your back. It was so subtle, but the look of comfort on your face always gave him away. To this day, I am envious of the bond you two share. Have I told you that?_

 _The Inquisitor has asked me to tell tales of our adventures during the Blight, but I fear that I have lost my aptitude for that sort of thing. Instead of fondness for those memories, I cannot help but grow sad at them. Our days of adventuring are over, but I would give anything to get them back. The Inquisition is my new family, and I am devoted to it, but you were my first real friend. The days are dark without your smile. Stay safe, dear Emilia, and return to me again._

 _All my love,_

 _Leliana_


	7. Chapter 7

-The Dragonborn-

 _The Dragonborn awoke to find herself kneeling besides a foul-smelling puddle of dark liquid. The stench sent her into a coughing fit as she pulled at the black cloak hiding her face. Confused, she got to her feet and surveyed her surroundings._

 _The wind was relentless, but not frigid. Inches from where she was standing, the land gave way to a deep canyon. Magnificent stone buildings were carved into the canyons, each one glittering in the light of the rising sun. The scene would have seemed peaceful, if not for the uneasy feeling in the atmosphere._

 _Upon a closer look, the Dragonborn noticed that the mist at the bottom of the canyon was mixed with smoke. On the ridge opposite from her, a stream of red trickled off the rock and into the water below. Peasants were running about frantically. Some were fanning at fires that consumed their shop stalls, helplessly watching as their only possessions went up in flames. Others were kneeling besides smoking bundles, and Kyra's skin crawled when she realized that the bundles were corpses._

 _And then, she remembered everything._

 _"Argis," she whispered. "Argis, where are you?"_

 _Panicked, she turned on her heels to go search for him, hoping that it had all been a terrible nightmare. But as she turned on her heels, she collided with a hulking form clad in armor. The force sent her stumbling, and she fell into the festering puddle._

 _Trembling, she slowly looked up to meet the gaze of a Markarth guard. In that instant, everything made sense. She was aware that she was now drenched in the liquidated remains of her lover. Her hands had fallen on charred bones while blood and bile crept into her smallclothes. As the guard hurriedly picked her up, she vomited on his breastplate._

 _"A thousand apologies my lady, truly, I did not mean to frighten you." The man's voice was low, but not weathered. He was a young man of no less than twenty, she guessed._

 _Kyra said nothing. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kill. She wanted to die. She wanted him back._

 _"Not to worry, miss. I'll get this cleaned up."_

 _Horrified, Kyra watched as the guard armed himself with a shovel he had been carrying and began to scoop up the remains. Her temper flared. There were spells she could perform. There were Daedra she could pray to and make sacrifices in their name. There were vampires and necromancers she knew who could fix this. As long as his remains stayed where they were…_

 _"Do not touch him," she ordered to the young guard. Deep in her heart, she knew that she had already corrupted the remains by falling in them, and she was reminded of this as hot liquid ran down her thighs._

 _The young guard disregarded her, probably taking her for no more than a grieving newly-widowed maid. "Jarl's orders, my lady. You're welcome to speak with him if there is inheritance to claim. The line is long already, but—"_

 _"I told you to NOT TOUCH HIM!" she roared, raging towards him with the fire of a dragon. As she reached for his shovel, he grabbed her wrist in a panicked confusion. Surely he only meant to defend himself, but he ended up twisting the dragon's wrist in a way it should not have been twisted._

 _She yelped in pain. At this point, several other guards and peasants had rushed to see what the commotion was. The Dragonborn disregarded all of them. None of them mattered. They were in her way, in her space, touching her, provoking her…_

 _"M'lady, please! Be still, we'll hold a proper funeral for him, I promise, I—"_

 _Those were the last words he managed before Kyra shook the whole city with a roar of 'Fus Ro Dah', so loud the Greybeards surely heard it in their temple. She fell to her knees from the force, panting. After several silent moments had passed, she slowly lifted her gaze to survey the scene._

 _The crowd of peasants had been violently dispersed across the path. A little girl, whose leg was twisted at a sickening angle, was calling for her mother. But her mother was lying unconscious after being thrown into a stone building. An older man lay whimpering on the ground as blood pooled around him, coming from a crack in his head. Averting her eyes, Kyra looked down towards the water, hoping for a more pleasant sight. But what she saw sickened her more. The young guard, who had only been trying to do his job, lay in a bloody mess on the cliff below. Every limb was contorted like a macabre sculpture. It had been a quick but painful death._

 _"You…what have you done?" whispered a voice behind her. A troop of five heavily-armored guards had surrounded her, each with their glistening weapons drawn, eager for justice. "You have committed unspeakable crimes against Skyrim and her people. And now you're going to rot in Cidhna Mine."_

 _Kyra felt no emotion; no fear, no remorse, nothing. Once again, all she had was herself. At least this time she was far more powerful than she had been before. Gone were her days of hiding and being scared. For whatever reason, she had been granted the powers of a God. Gods do not concern themselves with threats from mortals._

 _"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" barked one of the guards._

 _"Do you truly think that you can throw Skyrim's savior in that hellhole?" she asked teasingly._

 _"I do," he snarled. "And I will. Akatosh jokes with us by sending you here. You're no savior of mine. You're no savior of Skyrim." The guards began to close in on her._

 _"Enjoy the joke," she said. "Feim Zii Gron."_

 _The guards watched in shock as she let herself fall backwards over the cliff's edge, turning to mist as she hurdled down towards the shallow water below.._

She awoke, panting, in a cold sweat. The memories of that day would not stop haunting her. The guard's words always rang true in her head. For even though she had slayed the World-Eater, could a murderer deserve the title of Savior?


	8. Chapter 8

-Chassidy Trevelyan-

I couldn't help but think about Kyra. Even as I leaned on Cullen's arm watching the meadows of Orlais roll by, my thoughts couldn't move from the Dragonborn. Did I believe her story? Maybe; as wild and far-fetched as it had sounded, it seemed the only logical explanation for how someone with absolutely no knowledge of Thedas had ended up tumbling out of the Fade. Dorian had told me about her arguments with Solas. However, I didn't dwell too much on it. If I breathed wrong I would offend the elf somehow.

She was such a forlorn girl, too. I wondered why. When I was saying goodbye to Dorian, I noticed how her eyes had watched me jealously, and I think it was because it reminded her of something, maybe a friend or the lover she had left behind in her other world. When I had mentioned her powers, she had looked as if she was going to cry. Her expression at the time had reminded me of the moment when Corypheus had tried to remove the anchor from my hand. Even though it was something I had never asked for, the power and influence it had given me was….likeable, to say the least, even though a glowing green hand manages to clash with all my good outfits.

Kyra had truly lost everything, and I noticed that when I had tried to hug her. Her reaction was one of surprise, as if she had never expected such a gesture from anyone in this world. I couldn't say I blamed her. Discovering her powers literally saved her from death and gave her a chance to start anew from a life of depression and being told she was worthless. I could only imagine that losing those powers, those chances of a better life, must have reminded her of those days when she was abused by the city guards and reminded just how powerless she was. Maker, that poor girl…

Cullen, who had been lost in thought also as he stared across the plains, suddenly squeezed one of my hands that had been entwined with his. "There it is," he whispered, pointing to a spot on the horizon. "The Winter Palace…"

The Winter Palace emerged from the distance like a hulking giant from the mist. That comparison doesn't do much justice unless you have had the first-hand experience of seeing a giant emerge from the mist (which I have).

"Bloody shite!" exclaimed Sera as she squinted to get a closer look. "How many breeches would you say are in there, Inquisitor?"

"When you're the Empress, do you even need breeches?" I joked.

Sera's eyes widened at the thought. "Ooh, you're nasty, Inquisitor, thinking about the Empress like that! What would your Commander say to that, yeah? Thinking like that about the Empress?"

Cullen was too busy pretending not to hear. His blush gave him away, though.

"Quiet, please!" cried Josephine as she worriedly hopped from the carriage to check that our invitation was accounted for. She had spent nearly all of the time during the three-day carriage ride lecturing us on Orlesian politics and customs. I had tried to pay attention, but my thoughts were drifting back to Kyra.

Sera and Cassandra, however, couldn't have cared less about what Josephine had to say. And then there was Vivienne, who was listening just so she could correct her if she got even the tiniest detail wrong. At one point I was wondering if Vivienne was going to ask her what the last pair of shoes the empress last bought.

The palace was magnificent; far larger and more elegant than Skyhold. White and azure turrets wove their way into the evening mist, and the golden spires twinkled with a ghostlike reflection. The hedges were trimmed perfectly down to every last leaf, and immaculate statuary surrounded the entrance. It was all so perfect; too perfect.

"The political situation in Halamshiral hangs by a thread, and the empress fears our presence could severe it." Josephine nervously adjusted her matching suit as the nobles took notice of us. A long chain of Inquisition soldiers stood on either side of me as I marched into the front courtyard. "The Grand Duke is only too happy to have us as his guests, so our invitation comes from him. Whether we act as his allies or upset the balance of power, he gains an opportunity…if not a clear advantage."

Like a serpent, a man dressed more prominently than the rest snaked himself through the crowd to greet me. Even without Josephine's lectures, I could have gathered that this man was Duke Gaspard.

"A pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor Trevelyan!" he said with a thick Orlesian accent that sounded as crisp as the gold on his mask. He continued, "The rumors coming out of the Western Approach say that you battled an army of demons. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful emperor of Orlais!"

Truthfully, I wanted nothing more than to gut the man right there, but Josephine's warning echoes through my mind. She was right; I could feel the eyes of everyone on me, eagerly listening for my reply so they could have a topic of gossip for the evening.

"I can see many benefits to such an alliance." I forced myself to say the phase, despite loathe of the thought.

Behind the golden mask, I couldn't tell how Gaspard was responding, but his haughtiness oozed from his gestures. I imagined that I could openly insult him and he would take it as a complement. He chuckled, "Keep that image firmly in mind. We may see it materialize by the end of the evening. I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, and I'll help you."

 _What friends would those be?_ I thought to myself.

We strode towards a grand fountain in the center of the courtyard. All around, I noticed that the nobles were asking about me. I heard the words 'Trevelyan' and 'Marcher' many a time. Despite my origins being from Ostwick, it seemed that my title as the Bann's daughter seemed to garner some respect. Many eyes turned my way, and Josephine seemed to relax a little more behind me once she sensed the court's approval of me.

"So what do you say, Inquisitor?" said Gaspard. "Prepared to shock the assembly by appearing as a guest of a hateful usurper, my lady? They will be telling stories of this into the next age."

"I can't imagine that crowd has seen anything better than us in their entire lives!" I said with a smirk.

The Duke twirled his hands in an elaborate bow. "You are a woman after my own heart, my lady. As a friend, perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening. This elven woman Briala- I suspect that she intends to disrupt the negotiations. My people have found these 'ambassadors' all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes."

Well, that was unnerving. In all honesty, I was considering this Briala to be a suspect for the assassin. She certainly had the motive; former lover out for revenge. I told the Duke that I would look into it, but it made my heart pity Celene even more. I loved having that secret. Here was the Grand Duke, trusting me with every secret he had uprooted, not even knowing that I planned to turn the tides against him. Or perhaps, he could be lying about Briala to pin the suspect on her. Either option was equally likely, the more I thought about it.

"Be as discreet as possible" warned Gaspard, leaning in. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I detest the Game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains. Ah, but I digress…" He waved off the notion and extended an arm. "We're keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor. Shall we?" I took his arm and began to walk up the elegant stairway. All around us, nobles split to make room, their eyes glued to the foreign stranger walking arm in arm with the Grand Duke usurper.

I tried to listen in to their whispers, but I was drawn towards the hushed voices of Leliana and Josephine from behind me:

"Josie, did you happen to see the woman wearing the red gown? She was just on your right a moment ago."

"Do you mean the DeLauncet mistress? Or Madame Brienne DuPris?"

"No, no. Neither of those."

"I did not notice, then. Why do you ask?"

"No reason, Josie. No reason."

At this point, we had reached the main gate. The Duke had walked off to converse with a guard for a moment, and Josephine jumped on the opportunity to lecture me again:

"Inquisitor, a moment if you please?" It was more of a command, I noticed, by the stern expression on her face. "I must warn you before you go inside: how you speak to the court is a matter of life or death. It is no simple matter of etiquette or protocol. Every move, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness."

Back in Ostwick, all that my father, the Bann, worried about with his court was whether they would drink themselves to death or start gutting each other over religion. As much as I loved Orlesian luxuries and the beautiful capitol, I would much rather play games of swords over a game of words. However, if I was to command the Inquisition properly, I needed to be well-versed in _all_ the games, from Orlais to the Marches to even Antiva. I wondered if Kyra had ever encountered such difficulties. In one of her stories, she claimed that she had turned the tides of civil war to kill the usurper and destroy his army entirely. I still wasn't sure if I totally believed everything she was saying to me, but I definitely regretted leaving Skyhold before asking her more questions about how she had accomplished such a thing. Whether it was true or not, it could have given me insight on how to act in this situation. But I was on my own now; I'd have to trust in my own judgement. If only I could freeze all of the nobles just by saying a few words. I wanted to do that.

But, Josephine's eyes were still upon me, as if she were trying to read my mind. I told her, "Oh, don't they sound delightful. I'm _shocked_ we haven't invited the court to dinner at Skyhold!"

The ambassador sighed, "The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards. When you meet the empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you. You were safer in the Fade with the fear demon."

How charming.

"Well, it might be a good idea for the others to hear this warning. Especially Sera. Maybe tell her twice."

"I'll have a few…discreet words," said Josephine, looking like she was about to throw up. "Everything will be fine." That statement seemed to be more for her own sake than mine. Giving her a reassuring smile, I lifted my chin and walked towards the beckoning Duke. However, I wasn't even three paces away when I heard her whisper, "Andraste watch over us all."


	9. Chapter 9

-The Masked Woman-

That was her, all right; Inquisitor Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste. The woman had evaluated her company as they paraded by; a stunning Antivan woman who she must have seen once or twice before somewhere but couldn't remember the name of, a blonde-haired amber-eyed Commander who looked strikingly familiar, and of course, Leliana.

The bard was the only one who had noticed the woman. She had always paid attention to the minutest details. While all the others were trying to catch a glimpse of the legendary 'Herald', Leliana was scanning the crowd, always on the lookout for something. It was nice to see that some things had never changed.

It had been easy enough to come by the invitation and the gown and the shoes (Leliana surely must have noticed her beautiful red velvet and pearl-trimmed shoes). But she had forgotten one thing; the gloves. All of the other nobles around her were wearing white gloves, but her hands lay naked and exposed. Fortunately, her face and all other recognizable features had been expertly concealed. She had spent hours upon hours on the trip practicing her Orlesian accent. In her younger years, she had encountered many Orlesian nobles and would always annoy her mother when she mocked the accent in front of their guests.

But those were days long since passed.

She seamlessly blended in with the crowd of nobles. Perhaps she had never played the Orlesian Game before, but she was no stranger to the manner of nobles at all. In fact, her posture and gestures were so articulate that no one seemed to notice her lacking of gloves…all except for Leliana, of course.

By this point, the masked woman had made her way into the ballroom, where the empress was getting ready to greet the Inquisitor. All around, nobles tittered excitedly with each other. The masked woman subtlety nudged her way to a position around the bannister, where she would easily be able to see these new age heroes as they paraded to the court. All clad in their silly red and blue robes (which were much too Ferelden for an Orlais event) she sensed the anticipation in their eyes. Surely by now Leliana had warned them all of her…not to forget the assassin supposedly lurking in the shadows.

The messenger strode out and cleared his throat. A wave of hushed silence fell over the ballroom. She kept her eyes on Leliana, but the bard was looking straight ahead. She knew better than to try and scan the crowd for the assassin; it would be a death blow in the Game, and Leliana knew how the Game was played better than the Empress herself.

 _And now presenting; Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons_

The weasel of a Duke bowed arrogantly towards the court.

 _And accompanying him, Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick_

Slight gasps exploded around her; not all of them positive. Apparently, Orlesians must not have thought much of Marchers. Still, however, they seemed glad that this 'Herald' had a title to her name.

 _And accompanying the Inquisitor; Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Caligera Filomena-_

 _"_ Get on with it!" groaned a woman's voice. So this was the Seeker and Right Hand of the Divine; Cassandra of House Pentaghast. The masked woman had heard many heroic tales of that woman.

 _Her Ladyship…umm… Mai Bhalsych of Korse_

Oh, she liked that one. If _he_ were here, he would be laughing uncontrollably and causing an even bigger scene. For a short moment only, she was thankful for his absence. Surely he would have whispered something that would make her lose control over her impending laughter. Even as some around her giggled, she did nothing. She could not afford to draw any more attention to herself; especially now that Leliana had noticed her. The Inquisition's guards would be looking for her already as it was.

 _Madame Vivienne, First Enchanter to the Circle of Magi, Enchanter to the Imperial Court, Mistress of the Duke of Ghislain_

Now there was an unfamiliar name, although she had heard the name of Duke Ghislain mentioned before by her mother in her younger years.

 _Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, Commander of the forces of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall._

 _That's_ where she had seen this man before. Cullen had been a templar, just like _he_ had been many years ago. His hair looked much nicer now.

 _Lady Leliana; Nightingale of the Imperial Court, veteran of the Fifth Blight; Seneschal of the Inquisition and Left Hand of the Divine._

So her little bard had grown up into a spymaster? She wondered if Leliana still sung. She was looking much too serious and forlorn; it would do her good to do some singing.

 _And Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City; Ambassador of the Inquisition_

Ah, so that woman was an Antivan? She suddenly longed to hear her speak. Many years ago, the masked woman had an Antivan friend, whose accent she could listen to for hours. It was such a delightful tone, the way it rolled off the tongue. Her own accent was terribly boring; not exotic at all like Antiva or Orlais.

After a few exchanges of words between the Duke and the Empress, Celene had finally turned to address the Inquisitor.

"Lady Inquisitor," she said in that lovely accent. "We welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would have never been possible."

"What an unexpected pleasure," said the Duchess with false excitement. "I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities. We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor."

"Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer's day," chimed the Empress.

"I am delighted to be here, your Majesty," smiled the young woman.

"We have heard much of your exploits, Inquisitor. They have made grand tales for long evenings. How do you find Halamshiral?"

"I've never seen anything to equal the Winter Palace," spoke the Inquisitor in a rehearsed manner. Obviously Leliana and the Ambassador must have spent hours telling her how to behave.

From behind where the woman was standing, she heard the clunking of some heavier shoes. Turning around slowly, the woman tried to catch a glimpse of who the fashion violator was. She saw the glimpse of a dark red velvet dress with sparkling golden embroidery. Raven-black hair was pulled up into a bun, showing off a slender pale neck. The woman to whom the dress belonged was walking quickly, swinging her arms in a Ferelden-like manner as she hustled back to the main vestibule.

 _There you are,_ thought the masked woman as she silently slipped from the crowd.

-The Dragonborn-

The ale here was not nearly as good as it was in Skyrim, but it would have to do.

"So you could just whisper a word or two and suddenly you send a dragon crashing down to the ground?" asked the one called Iron Bull. His race was called Qunari, he had explained, and looked like much bigger, less beastlike versions of Orcs back in Tamriel.

The Dragonborn lowered her mug and shrugged. "I have to make sure I'm aiming the right way, but other than that, that sums it up pretty well."

"Damn!" laughed the Bull. "Why can't I do that?"

"I don't even want to think about you having those sorts of powers, Bull," laughed the mage Dorian. "In fact, Kyra my dear, I am much more interested in learning about your proficiency with magic."

Kyra was always willing to talk about her magic. "Well, back in Tamriel, I am the Arch-Mage of a magical college which is looked down on by the surrounding village. Just like here, the warrior Nords are very skeptical about mages, but we have no such systems to restrain them like the Circle or these phylacteries. Anyways, we recovered a magical construct known as the Eye of Magnus from an ancient ruin. No one was quite sure of its function, but it hummed and swelled with powerful mana. A fellow student betrayed the College, slayed the former Arch-Mage and killed several others in the process. He had literally used the Eye to stop time, and was trying to steal its powers for his own benefit. I slayed him before he could do anything, though, and a group of powerful monks teleported the Eye far away from Skyrim to Talos-knows-where."

"That sounds….fascinating," marveled Dorian. "I envy a world where mages are free to do as they wish."

Kyra said, "Well, even though they are free, there is still a large amount of suspicion placed on them. Even my fellow Nords were not altogether thrilled to learn that their fabled savior used magic alongside her sword.

The Iron Bull squinted his eyes and asked, "What's that Nord thing you keep mentioning?"

"A Nord is what I am. We are the _bron,_ the men of the North. We are one of the three races of mankind on Tamriel in addition to the Imperials and the Redguards."

"Your races seem much more complicated than just human and elves."

"Oh yes, very much so. There are nine in all, and used to be much more. There's the _Mer,_ the _fahliil,_ the elves, as you know them by. There are three species of elves; High Elves, Wood Elves, and Dark Elves. Long ago existed the Snow Elves, but years of enslavement warped them into vicious beasts known as the Falmer. Then there's the beast-folk; the Orcs, Khajiit, and Argonians. Long ago, we used to have—"

The door to the tavern was suddenly kicked open, and in walked the very thing Kyra was about to say had vanished from the world. Her blue eyes grew wide as she blinked rapidly, trying to process what she was seeing.

"Come in, Varric!" said the Bull to the mythical creature. "We were just getting lectured on the other side of the universe!"

"Ah, I see. So you're the 'Dragonborn'?" he asked, slowly approaching her. All she could do was watch, wide-eyed in amazement. Oh, if Argis were here he would never believe her.

Varric raised an eyebrow at the Dragonborn who was unable to move, save for widening her eyes even more with each step he took.

"Everything alright, Kyra?" asked Dorian. "I know Varric can be scary, but Bull here could step on him if need be."

"Hey!" exclaimed the dwarf.

Kyra rubbed her eyes once more just to make sure she was seeing straight. "You…your kind is supposed to be dead! Extinct, even…"

Varric laughed. "Extinct? Orzammar hasn't collapsed, has it?"

Turning to face the others, Kyra hurriedly explained, "In Tamriel, all of the Dwemer, erm, the dwarves I mean, supposedly vanished into thin air hundreds of years ago! I've been through their underground ruins! I've seen the empty halls of a once-great empire! In all of my studies, I have learned that dwarves possessed more knowledge of the arcane than the Gods preferred. Legend says that the Gods themselves feared of the dwarves growing too intelligent, so they banished them from the realm!" Turning to Varric, she ran and threw herself onto the ground. "Please, ser," her breath was a shaky whisper. "Do you know any of your people's history? Is there an enchanter, a scholar even, that I could speak with? All I ask for is one task…"

Stepping back slowly, Varric raised his hands. "Whoa, hold it there. I may be the best damned storyteller in all of Thedas, and the most handsome, but ten years ago my people weren't even smart enough to solve their political problems on their own. I don't think we were 'banished' here by anyone!"

Kyra's spirits fell. If anyone would have known secrets to revival, it would have been the Dwemer. The appearance of dwarves in Tamriel and Thedas was nothing more than a sad coincidence. "I…see, then," She slowly lifted herself off of the floor. "If you will forgive me, ser. My appearance in this _suleyksejun_ is accidental. I must remind myself that not all here wield the same _suleyk_ as in my homeland."

"There you go again!" sighed Dorian dramatically. "What _are_ you speaking? It is coincidence enough that we share the common tongue; but whatever guttural noises you speak are unheard of!"

"Guttural?" scoffed the Bull. "I think it's sexy!"

"Forgive me," she said with a small bow of the head. "I speak the _dovah rot-_ the Words of the Dragons."

"Is that so?" questioned the dwarf. "Because when I fought the dragon with the Inquisitor, all I heard it say was 'Rharrrrg' and 'roaaaarrr'"

"Then is it another discrepancy between our worlds. What you call 'Archdemons' would pale in comparison to even the weakest of dragons in Tamriel. The _dovah_ are nothing short of gods. They were created in the image of Akatosh, chief deity of the divine Pantheon, and they pride themselves in being his sons. When I first learned of my powers as Dovahkiin, kin of the dragons, I took it upon myself to study the language, to integrate it into my vocabulary. Unlike the common tongue, the divines themselves created the _dovah rot._ Each word is constructed to contain immense power. It allowed me to not only match the strength of the dragons, but to converse with them."

"You're shitting us!" laughed the dwarf.

"I am _NOT!"_ roared Kyra, her anger flaring. "In Tamriel, such an accusation would have you executed as soon as those words left your lips! I have saved the world from countless threats and have been repaid by the loss of everything dear to me! I am the Dovahkiin and I have suffered enough insults from both Tamriel _and_ Thedas! I am a GOD!"

Collapsing to the floor, she beat the hardwood helplessly as she whispered, "I am a _god…"_ over and over to herself.

Her cries echoed across the empty building. Dorian and the Iron Bull sat in stunned silence, while Varric casually went to sit by her on the floor. As she sobbed, he gently placed a hand on her back. "You haven't saved this world, kiddo," he said. "At this point, we're beyond the help of the gods."


	10. Chapter 10

-Chassidy Trevelyan-

"Second bell," I muttered to myself. "Fashionably late, now…"

I had just been poking in the most secret parts of the castle, and my search had been fruitful. I hadn't had a chance to thoroughly read through the documents I had discovered, but Leliana would be eager to see them later. Quickening my pace, I slowly grasped the cold door handle.

"Well, well," cooed a deep voice from behind me. "What have we here?"

I froze for a moment, then spun on my heels to come face-to-face with the most shockingly beautiful yet horrifying woman I had ever seen.

Her electric yellow eyes sunk into my own as her boots clicked down the stairs. "The new leader of the Inquisition; fabled herald of the faith! Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of blessed Andraste herself!" The woman posed with her hands on the waist of a beautiful red velvet gown.

I smirked while she went on; "What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even you know?"

"We may never know!" said, crossing my arms. "Courtly intrigues and all that."

"Such intrigues obscure much, but not all. I am Morrigan," she said with a bow of her head. "Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane." She motioned for me to follow her as we walked through a throng of people in the ballroom. I noticed that her walk was very…Ferelden. Her back was hunched and her arms had a swing to them, very unlike the stiff movements of the Orlesian wallflowers. She went on, "You have been very busy this evening, hunting in every dark corner of the palace. Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey?"

"I hope so," I sighed. "I could use another ally here."

Her gown had bright blue feathers. No Orlesians ever wore feathers!

"A sentiment I share, considering recent events," said Morrigan.

"Recent events?"

"Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very halls; an agent of Tevinter. So I offer you this, Inquisitor," she opened her palm to reveal a small glittering object. "A key found on the Tevinter's body. Where it leads, I cannot say; yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. _You_ can."

"If you truly want answers, come help me find them," I offered.

Morrigan clucked, "I already told you: I must return to protect the empress. But proceed with caution, Inquisitor. Enemies abound, and not all of them allied with Tevinter. What comes next," she said with a devious smile. "Will be most exciting…"

Gripping the key, I slipped off to go gather my party to scour the servant's quarters. Before I got very far, however, I accidentally ran straight into a woman with a beautiful red dress and a golden mask. Yelping in surprise, I started to fall back, but the woman reached down and grabbed my wrist. Her bare hands were very cold to the touch. Whispering an apology, I brushed past her and tried to regain my footing. I had to find the assassin; I _had_ to.

-Sister Nightingale-

Leliana thought that her eyes were surely betraying her. The Warden had told her that she had disappeared, strolled right into an eluvian! Of all the possible places for her to end up, dressed in a fancy gown at the Orlesian court would have taken dead last on Leliana's list.

In fact…there was something about that dress…

Then it came back to her;

 _They had walked into the tavern; Emilia had wanted a drink and nobody was bold enough to object to her. After all, Redcliffe was preparing for a massive attack from the undead; who could blame her for wanting to slip away for a moment?_

 _She slumped at a table and the rest of them had awkwardly shuffled behind her to take a seat. Alistair was quick to grab the one next to his fellow Warden; Leliana had noticed the adoring looks he had been giving her ever since she met the two of them in Lothering._

 _Leliana went to take a seat across from them, but her eyes had noticed Morrigan, perched impatiently against the wall. Despite the angry and spiteful look in her yellow eyes, Leliana could not peel away her gaze from the woman. She was strikingly beautiful, and deserved to be told so…_

 _"You are very beautiful, Morrigan."_

 _The witch looked up, initially startled at the mention of her name, but her eyes lowered back to half-mast when she saw it was only the bard. She tossed her head and scoffed, "Tell me something I do not know."_

 _"But you always dress in such rags!" exclaimed the girl, gesturing to her shabby outfit. "It suits you, I suppose. A little tear here, a little rip there to show some skin. I understand."_

 _"You understand I lived in a forest, I hope?"_

 _Suddenly, a vision popped into Leliana's head. In her daydreams, she always fantasized about her days spent at the Orlesian balls and soirees, when she would play a game with herself to figure out who had the prettiest dress. One gown in particular had remained in her mind all these years. Excitedly, she described it to Morrigan: "Maybe we could get you in a nice dress one day…silk. No, maybe velvet. Velvet is heavier, better to guard against the cold in Ferelden." Leliana was growing giddy at the thought. "Dark red velvet, yes, with gold embroidery." Her eyes ran up and down over the witch's beautiful figure, and she added, "It should be cut low in the front of course, we don't want to hide your features."_

 _Morrigan glared at her and shifted uncomfortably. "Stop looking at my breasts like that. 'Tis most disturbing!"_

 _The bard scrunched her brow. "You don't think so?" Another vision popped into her mind. "And if it's cut low in the front we must put your hair up to show off that lovely neck."_

 _"You are insane!" yelled Morrigan. "I would sooner let_ Alistair _dress me!"_

 _From a few seats over, Alistair, who had been whispering to his fellow Warden to comfort her, almost jumped out of his skin at her mention of his name. Even Emilia had looked up from her drink to listen in on their conversation. From the smirk on her face, she must have found Leliana's idea to be intriguing as well._

 _"Oh it'll be fun!" she laughed. "I promise! We'll get some shoes too-" Leliana gasped as her mind spun with the possibility of her favorite accessory. "Ooh, shoes! We could go shopping together!"_

 _The horrified and embarrassed look on Morrigan's face had made even Emilia laugh. Her laugh was like a beacon, and every sad soul in the room turned to look at the stunning woman who had found a reason to laugh even in these dark times. Her happiness made Alistair smile, and he pushed aside all of his shyness and embarrassment to take her hand in his own._

 _Still laughing, Emilia had leaned into his shoulder._

 _Leliana had caused the beginnings of the famous relationship between the King and Queen of Ferelden._

The memory warmed Leliana's mind as she made her way over to Morrigan's position. On her way, though, she had nearly stumbled over a wandering noble woman. Issuing her apologies, Leliana looked up, but her blood ran cold.

It was the woman she had seen earlier; the one with the golden mask and no gloves. No female player of the Game would dare set foot in a ball without sporting gloves. The woman had been lingering close to members of the Inquisition all night, and it made her extremely suspicious. Earlier she had tried to warn Josephine, but with the large crowd focusing each bit of their attention on them, it would have given away her suspicion. If this woman was the assassin, such an action would have given away the Inquisition's real purpose; to protect the empress.

The woman's reaction was startled; suspiciously so. Murmuring, she bowed her masked head and hurried off in the opposite direction. Reminding herself to look out for that woman later, the Nightingale was reminded of her excitement, and stepped out into the evening air.

"I see you took my advice after all, old friend," whispered the bard as she approached the figure on the balcony.

Morrigan turned with a start, her wild electric eyes settling upon Leliana. She blinked and furrowed her brow, trying to recognize who dared to address her, but suddenly all of the memories came rushing back. "Leliana," she smirked coolly. "I had heard you would be here."

"You didn't reply to my comment, though," she teased as she came to stand beside her old friend. Don't think I've forgotten about what I told you ten years ago. A dark red velvet dress, with gold embroidery cut low in the front…"

"I do not know what you are talking about," huffed the Witch as she rounded her heels to go perch herself back over the balcony.

"I am glad to see you too, my friend," Leliana whispered as she came up to stand beside her. It had been ten years since they had last seen each other, and Morrigan was looking more beautiful than ever before, if that was even possible.

"You've changed."

Leliana didn't disagree with her accusation. "Would you expect anything else after the passing of ten years? The inspiration I once drew from my vision has faded over the years, and with the death of Justinia…well. It seems that this world is not as kind and forgiving of a place I once thought it to be."

Morrigan's only sign of agreement was a mournful glance into the horizon. "Have you heard from her?"

"From who?"

"You know who I'm talking about. Celene said she vanished."

"I've written to her several times, yes. She travelled far, far west in search of a means to end the Calling so she can spend more time with her King."

"That fool's still alive?" scoffed the witch.

"You know he is, Morrigan. Alistair wouldn't die on us yet."

"'Tis a pity, then."

Leliana laughed sadly, thinking fondly on those older days. "Do you miss her, Morrigan?"

"She is the only person I would trust with anything."

"Yes, then?"

Before Morrigan could respond, however, Leliana's eyes scowled at the figure perching itself by the balcony door. It was the gloveless woman again, pretending to stare at the dancers. But Leliana knew all the tricks of eavesdropping; her head was turned at an angle where she would be able to hear their conversation perfectly. Three times was the golden number; she had found her spy.

"Come with me," Leliana said suddenly, tugging on the witch's sleeve.

Morrigan pulled herself free from Leliana's grasp and huffed, "Don't pull on me! What are fussing over?"

"Don't ask me; not here. Come with me."

Rolling her eyes, Morrigan shuffled along behind Leliana as they navigated their way through the main crowd of the ballroom, into the vestibule, and into a side room by the entrance to the servant's quarters. No one else was in the room except for two gossiping nobles in the corner. Upon seeing Leliana, though, they tried to make a discreet exit. Obviously they were intimidated by the Inquisition's wily spymaster.

"What is it?" demanded Morrigan, putting her hands on her hips.

Leliana motioned for her to turn towards the doorway. "In a few moments, a woman wearing a red gown with no gloves will walk into here. I have reason to believe that this is the assassin stalking Celene. Apparently, she is targeting the Inquisition as well. When we see her, we move towards the exit, and I will ambush her. With any luck, this whole mess ends now."

Morrigan was shocked, to say the least, by Leliana's change in attitude over the years. The only thought that came to mind was the phrase 'Princess Stabbity' spoken by the idiot King of Ferelden himself. Still, however, she did not protest. If Leliana was surely a spymaster, she must have insight far greater than her own.

Sure enough, the woman of Leliana's description appeared by the door and casually strolled in to examine a plaque on a statue.

Leliana, motioning for Morrigan to follow, said, "Have you sampled the cheese tonight, my lady? The chefs have truly outdone themselves."

Morrigan scoffed. "I have had things to do, I do not have time to sample foods. Who do you take me for?" They were ten paces away from the woman.

"Oh, I don't know," sighed Leliana. "With so many masks, it's hard to know who we can…take people for."

Leliana had come up behind the woman and pressed her dagger to her neck. The masked woman did not move a muscle, as if she had been anticipating it.

"Move and I slit your throat."

Beneath the golden mask, they heard an unmistakable laugh.

"You dare laugh at me?" roared Leliana, spinning the woman around so that she was looking her in the eyes. "Crossing the Inquisition will be your last mistake."

"Oh, Leliana," came the voice again. Morrigan and the Nightingale both froze. The voice was not Orlesian or Tevinter like they were expecting the assassin to be. It was…Ferelden. A very familiar Ferelden voice.

"Who are you?" whispered Morrigan, just as confused as Leliana.

No response came.

Furiously, Morrigan reached up to the golden mask and ripped it off of the woman's face. Beneath it laid the most beautiful golden hair spilled around a rounded face in sweaty wisps. Rosy cheeks blushed upon their exposure, and her rosebud lips curled into a smile. Morrigan's electric eyes met the woman's sky blue ones.

But that was impossible…

Leliana was pressing her dagger to the throat of none other than the Hero of Ferelden; Queen Emilia Cousland.


	11. Chapter 11

-The Hero of Ferelden-

It was certainly an unexpected way for her to be reunited with her friends, but she was happy for it nevertheless. Leliana's blue eyes, which didn't seem to sparkle the way she remembered, suddenly filled with tears. Even Morrigan, who a moment ago wore an angry scowl, now blinked in stunned confusion.

They had every right to be confused; she was supposed to be in some unknown location to the far west, not attending royal duties in a foreign court!

A tremble of the bard's hand suddenly reminded her that a dagger was still pressed to her throat. With a gentle hand, Emilia grasped Leliana's and moved it down from her pale neck. It was not necessary anymore. Still, moments passed where all the two women in front of her could do was run their eyes up and down her body again, checking to see if this truly was their savior standing in front of them.

Leliana was the first to move. Her movement was rigid and purposeful; back during the Blight her strikes always held some remorse. That remorse was long gone.

Instead of welcoming her friend, however, she raised the dagger again. "You could be anyone for all I know!" she spat. "I refuse to believe this. The Warden is halfway across the world. She told me herself."

Under the lips of the dagger, Emilia felt quite relaxed. This was not her first time in such a position, after all. Very calmly, she lifted her delicate chin to look Leliana in the eyes. "Do you remember, from all those years ago," the Queen began to ask. "There was a tale of our adventures that is left out in tales of our journeys. Remember when we confronted her, Leliana? Marjolaine? After you had killed her, you came to me by the campfire because you doubted yourself and your actions; you thought you were slipping away into Marjolaine's world. Remember what I told you?"

Leliana looked on in stunned silence.

"I said," continued the Warden. "You're not slipping. This is who you are."

Immediately, the dagger fell to the ground. Leliana was trembling with this newfound happiness. She whispered, "Emilia…it's you…" and threw herself shamelessly into the Warden's arms. For the first time in many years, unrestrained and unashamed tears flowed down her hardened face. Emilia's embrace reminded her of the days long ago when she was young and careless; just beginning to learn about all the curses of the world. Leliana had told her that in one of her letters.

The Warden lifted her gaze to Morrigan, who still hadn't accepted what she was seeing. The Queen noticed that her sizzling eyes seemed more subdued; less spiteful.

"Morrigan," whispered Emilia. "I've missed you…"

That was all it took. Morrigan smiled more broadly than Emilia had ever seen her smile before. Their embrace was quick, but it said everything that needed to be said.

But, there was still one question on the Queen's mind. While she had missed the two people standing in front of her immensely over the past decade, the person for whose sake she had journeyed was yet to be seen. Looking at her two friends, her aqua eyes squinted hopefully as she whispered, "Is he…?"

Leliana smiled. "He is alive, my Queen. The Inquisitor encountered him in Redcliffe several weeks ago when we recruited the rebel mages."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "How is he? Did she say anything else about him? Anything at all?"

"I questioned her in depth as well, my Queen. The only thing the Inquisitor said was that his attitude didn't seem to match the one she had heard so many stories about."

"He needs me…" she whispered. "But…but he made no mention of the Calling?"

"Not as far as I know, my Queen."

The Warden laughed that same cheerful laugh Leliana had grown to love. Hearing it again on her ears filled her with a sense of hope, like the Inquisition had a chance at stopping Corypheus. "Leliana," she happily scolded. "Stop with the 'my Queen' business! I haven't been to the Ferelden court in nearly three years. Besides, you didn't call me 'my lady' when you learned I was a Cousland, did you? Just call me Emilia, my friend."

"You…you disappeared, though!" stammered Morrigan. "You disappeared without telling anyone where you were going!"

Emilia winked at her. "So did you."

A pause. "Fair enough."

"But did you end it?!" gasped Leliana excitedly. "Is the Calling over?"

The Warden shook her head. "No. This is not the place to be talking about this sort of thing. I needed to find you; that's all I can say for now. In the meantime, you two need to leave me alone, ignore me even. Of all the things to forget, I forget the gloves. If any nobles start gossiping about not only my fashion crimes but my Ferelden friends, things could turn dicey."

"How did you even manage to get in here?" asked Morrigan.

Leliana, laughing, turned to the witch and asked, "Have you even met Emilia, Morrigan?"

"Oh, it was no trouble really," said the Warden. "All I did was stand the way mother used to teach me, wear this ridiculous mask, roll my wrists a lot, and snatch an invitation from a drunk man's pocket!"

The sound of the ballroom bell in the background reminded the three women that their old adventures remained in the old decade, and that there were current matters needing their attention.

"Celene will be heading back to the ballroom, then," said Morrigan. She nodded at Leliana and barely gave Emilia a glance before walking away. She took one step, then two, then three….

And then she spun around and threw her arms around the neck of the Warden.

"Emilia," she whispered in her best friend's ears. "I would not be where I am today without you. You gave me everything I hold dear; friendship, adventure, my son…"

Morrigan stopped suddenly, having mentioned her son. She had tried to forget who Kieran's father was most of the time, but she remembered now. And she also remembered about hearing how outraged the Ferelden Arls were when they learned that the King and Queen couldn't produce an heir. Little did they know….

"It's all right, Morrigan," laughed Emilia forgivingly. "Your boy has given me happiness as well; he gave me my life to live alongside Alistair. _You_ helped give me that life, Morrigan. I don't regret my decision even for a second."

The toll of the second bell rang across the hall.

"I must find the Inquisitor," said Leliana, sad to leave her reunion with the past. "She was investigating these threats on Celene. I will keep a watchful eye on you, Emilia. Should you feel endangered, come to me, and I will protect you. Game or no game, I will not let anyone here hurt you."

"I dare them to try," laughed the Queen as she replaced the mask on her face.

-Sister Leliana-

It was absolutely sinful. On the other side of the room the Queen of Ferelden and vanquisher of the Blight was walking among the nobles as if she were just another one of them; a pretty face with a meaningless title.

If it weren't for that woman, everyone in the room would be dead.

Leliana had a burning desire to remind them of that; to shout to everyone that the Hero of Ferelden was standing _right there._

But she couldn't. She couldn't even go over and wrap her arms around her friend like she had wanted to so badly for the past ten years. _Remember the Inquisitor, Leliana,_ she reminded herself. _Your duties are with her now. The Blight is gone._

With that thought in mind, all of the doom and gloom feelings that Emilia had cleared suddenly rushed back into her thoughts. Heart heavy, the bard slowly strolled forward to examine the dancers below her and the throng across from her. The Inquisitor would be dressed in red robes. Although the garments were utterly hideous, Leliana had chosen them so that the members of the Inquisition would be able to easily identify each other in times like these.

What she saw took her by surprise. Down on the dance floor, Inquisitor Trevelyan was dancing flawlessly and elegantly with none other than the Grand Duchess Florienne. All around her erupted 'oohs' and 'ahs' as the Inquisitor spun around so gracefully with the Duchess. Leliana recalled that Chassidy herself was a noble back in Ostwick. No doubt she had learned a thing or two about dancing from there.

The applause roared as the Inquisitor and the Duchess gave a final bow to each other. Looking closely, she noticed their lips moving very slightly. With any luck, the Inquisitor had gained some insight on what course of action they should take tonight.

Leliana had done her research, after all. She had come up with a plan of her own. The dark ideas of deception in her mind made her giddy as she quickly marched to meet the Inquisitor.

-Chassidy Trevelyan-

"You'll be the talk of the court for months!" said Josephine excitedly as she approached me. "We should take you dancing more often!"

"Oh, I'd happily do more dancing!" I beamed. "…Just not with Corypheus."

The Ambassador laughed. "I promise not to invite him to your next ball."

"Were you dancing with Duchess Florianne?" exclaimed Leliana as she approached with Cullen.

"More importantly," dismissed the Commander (not before I could see the jealousy on his face, mind you) "What happened in the servant's quarters? I heard there was fighting!"

Leliana's face paled as she turned to me, and Cullen and Josephine looked on with intent. "I hope you have good news," prayed Josephine. "It appears the peace talks are crumbling."

Oh, what a shock. "The Grand Duchess told me there's proof Gaspard is in league with Tevinter," I informed them

"She offered up her own brother?" gasped Leliana. "She's more cutthroat than I realized."

"Then…the attack on the empress _will_ happen tonight," sighed Cullen.

"Warning Celene is pointless!" said Josephine. "She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat."

Leliana smirked deviously. "Then perhaps we should let her die."

Three pairs of eyes looked at the Nightingale in shock.

"Are you kidding me?" I tried to contain my voice. "I won't stand by and let her die!"

"Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor," she whispered calmly despite my outburst. "What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the empire must remain strong. This evening, someone must emerge victorious."

"And it doesn't need to be Celene…" Cullen said slowly, catching on. "She's right."

Josephine and I however, were still outraged at the suggestion. "Do you realize what you're suggesting, Leliana!" said the Ambassador.

"Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one." I guessed Leliana had learned that during the year of the Blight. But the Blight was ten years gone.

"So you're asking _me_ to decide what's best for Orlais?"

"More than that," said Cullen. "Whoever controls the Imperial throne will affect all of Thedas."

"You cannot stop Corypheus without a decision. You must support _someone,_ or all is lost." Leliana's words, despite how uncomfortable they made me, were true nonetheless.

"Then we should support Celene!" said Josephine. "She is the rightful ruler! Why would we say otherwise?"

"Because she led Orlais to this point," sneered my Commander. "I say Gaspard; provided his sister is wrong about him."

And then, because Maker forbid my advisors ever agree on anything, Leliana said this: "I would suggest Briala. She could bring true peace; not only to the empire but also to its elves."

"This is however, your decision, Inquisitor. Not ours," said Josephine.

Not missing a beat, I firmly reminded them of what seemed to have been forgotten. "We came here to save Celene."

"Then you must not only save her life, but also her empire," said my spymaster.

Josephine added, "That means giving her a victory over both Gaspard and Briala."

Cullen threw in his two cents too, since everyone else was: "If there truly is proof Gaspard is in league with Corypheus, that would be a start."

"What did Duchess Florianne tell you?" asked Leliana.

"She said Gaspard's military captain is in the royal wing; that he knows about the assassination."

Cullen looked alarmed. "It could be a trap!"

Josephine corrected him: "Or a lead. Either way, you should search the private quarters in that wing for clues."

"Then get me access." Turning to Cullen, I added, "In the meantime, get your soldiers into position."

His attempt at formality didn't hide the concern on his face. Maker, that man had an adorable concerned face. "At once," he said. As I began to walk forward, he grabbed my wrist sharply. "Be careful, Inquisitor." It was more of a command than a warning.

"Don't you worry about me," I assured him before signaling to my party that it was time once again to delve into the dark corners of Halamshiral.

-The Dragonborn-

The room that had been set aside for her by the Inquisitor was shabby, to say the least. Overgrown vines and tassels wound their way around the posts of a creaky bed through rotten holes in the floor. Aside from a small night table set by the bed, other furniture items such as paintings as cupboards lay strewn about the floor. Some soldiers had brought up freshly-washed linens and pillows, but little else had been done to prepare the room.

If she were in Tamriel, she could be spending the night at Lakeview manor, all curled in her magnificent bed while her stewards and bard hummed songs all through the night. The crackle of the fire would have eased her spirit and sent her off into dreams of the nights when she and Argis lay in each other's arms getting lost in the swirls of the flames. If she had desired thicker blankets or a lush robe, all it would take was a word or two and she would have them.

But she was no longer the Dragonborn. In this world, if she was truly in another world, she was no different from the other peasants that ambled about the castle during the daytime. In fact, the only reason she had received this secluded room was because of the Inquisitor's kindness.

But the Inquisitor, as they called her, was far away. Kyra was left alone again. Many nights, she would stand on the balcony at Lakeview Manor and listen to the cries of animals and whipping winds of Tamriel. Here, those sounds scared her. With no power, she had every reason to be afraid. The eerie silence reminded her of the days as a recruit of the Dark Brotherhood, when she was stalking upon her prey in total silence. A predator could easily creep up on her…

 **BANG**

Crying out, Kyra jolted upright in her bed and looked towards the source of the sound. Her fingers trembled as a heavy boot kicked its way through the rubble of the collapsed door and a hooded figure slipped into the room. Instinctively, she reached for the dagger that she had kept hidden in her robes, but the doctors had confiscated her weapons long before she had even gained consciousness.

The figure moved closer.

Praying to Akatosh, Kyra suddenly leapt from her bed and extended her arms. Even if she was powerless, the intruder didn't know that. In Skyrim, her idle threats had swayed many a mighty foe. Why would this case be any different?

Suddenly, the figure extended its shadowy arms towards Kyra. Her whole body was consumed with a burning fear, and she could feel the fear running through her hands like fire. The feeling was fleeting, but she shut her eyes in terror, waiting for the figure to strike.

"Maker's sake, Kyra," coughed a familiar voice. The Dovahkiin opened her eyes to see that the 'figure' was none other than a hooded Dorian, and he was quickly trying to swat out a small fire on his arm. With a slight twist, he managed to extinguish the small flame. Instead of being angry with her, however, he looked amused. "So, scaring the shit out of you brings your powers back?" he laughed. "Good to know!"

Kyra, still in shock, could only mumble her lips wordlessly as the mage went on.

"Did you even notice what you did, or were you too busy cowering? I don't blame you, I would have done the same thing if a cloaked figure accidentally broke down my already rotting door," he gestured to the pile of broken boards in the entryway. "Anyways, somehow you managed to set me aflame…congratulations! Is Solas next on your hit list?"

"You mean the _fahliil?"_

"The what?"

" _Fa-_ never mind. The elf, I mean."

"Yes, the angry bald elf. Too bad you couldn't have set him on fire! I wonder, what did you do to people who claimed you to be lying back in Skyrim?"

She thought for a moment, and then said, "One time a group approached me and accused me of being the false Dragonborn. I killed them."

"See, I bet you-"

"As it happened, they were sent by a powerful villain who called himself the First Dragonborn and was Champion of the Daedra demon Hermaeus Mora. His name was Miraak. For many months, as I would feed off of the dragon souls, he would appear and steal their essence from me. It was quite annoying. So, I journeyed into Oblivion to find Miraak. Before I could kill him, however, the Daedra himself impaled the arrogant Dragonborn with a tentacle, and transferred the souls Miraak had stolen to me and named me his Champion."

"….oh, um. Well, sounds like you showed him who the real Dragonborn was! I'm not sure if Solas deserves to be impaled by a tentacle, though."

"Will this elf steal my dragon souls?"

"If given sufficient cause…maybe. But I doubt it."

"Then he is in no danger."

Dorian laughed heartily. "You're a hell of a woman, Kyra! If it's any consolation, I'm thrilled that you tripped through a time vortex and ended up in Thedas!"

She forced a smile up at the mage.

Sensing her discontent, Dorian sighed and sat himself on the edge of her bed. While she eyed him emotionlessly, he tentatively put an arm around her shoulder. "There was actually a reason for me barging into your room, you know. I'd hoped to have a word with you. I know how strange this must be for you. I don't know what it's like to absorb a dragon's soul or to be the living Champion of a demon god, but I know what it feels like to feel like an outcast."

"I know what it's like to live as an outcast!" spat Kyra. "I never wanted to go back to that life again!"

While most people would have flinched at the fire in Kyra's voice, Dorian only offered her a sympathetic nod. He told her, "I'm guessing you had a rough childhood from the sounds of it. I did too. I don't know what you think of marriage back in Tamriel, but here in Ferelden, love is not restricted to a man and a woman. However, I wasn't born in Ferelden. I'm from a place called Tevinter, which most Fereldens would consider to be a living hell. My father was one of the magisters, a person with great magical aptitude, and he expected me to follow suit and carry on his powerful bloodline. But I prefer men you see, and, well, the parts don't add up quite the way he wanted them to. So I left."

"That was brave of you," confessed the Dragonborn. It was the first complement she ever recalled giving anyone since Argis.

"Did I just hear the legendary Dragonborn call me brave?" Dorian laughed proudly. "Would you write that down and sign it for me, just so I can rub it in my father's face?" Honestly, he didn't seem too opposed to that thought. "But how about you? What happened before you became the great Dora Kin?"

"Dovahkiin," she corrected.

"Right, that was it. How about it – I told you mine, you can return the favor."

"I….I suppose. My father was killed when I was young because it was known that he was a bastard of the King, and since the province was in such great turmoil already, assassins were hired to kill him. My mother and I fled from Skyrim after his death with next to nothing. We ended up in Cyrodiil, the capital of the Empire. My mother taught me the art of thievery, and that's how we stayed alive for several years before the guards caught us."

"I can imagine you must have been quite the thief," said Dorian with a smirk. It was true; her fingers were long and nimble, her pace was light and springy, and her eyes always examined the little details of every room, whether she was planning to steal or not. She was a clever girl.

She continued: "I was, yes. I still am. But then, I was not. My mother sold me to the guards for a few coins. For years, they hid me in the cellar of their barracks. Every night they would make sure I was tied up before they…before they…"

"Kyra, you don't have to," Dorian whispered once he realized that she was crying.

"No. You asked and I shall tell you. Dragonborn or not, I still am human and have the emotions of one. I am not embarrassed by my tears." Wiping her eyes, she took a shaky breath and continued. "For four years, that was my life. Once in a while, they would take me out into the courtyard to see the sunshine, but that hardly ever happened. At some point, I figured out how to create a lockpick from a rusted nail I had found on the floor, and I used it to slip out every few nights. I'd walk along the back alleys and search for food or break into other houses until dawn started to creep over the city. Then I'd go back."

"Go back?!" Dorian was shocked. "If you could escape so easily, why would you go back?"

"I didn't have adequate food or weapons to survive long enough in the wilderness. I promised myself that I would get out of this, and in order to do that I needed to survive. I always stashed my finds from my nightly strolls under a pile of hay. There wasn't much there, but it was better than nothing."

"How did you ever manage to get out of that situation, then?"

"Their own foolery led to their doom- _niist meyar daan._ One night after their assaults, I rolled over on the pile of rags they had given me for a bed. My leg was sliced open by something sharp; a dagger. One of the guards had forgotten it. I was so excited that I didn't even care about all the blood. I had my chance at _stin…_ freedom."

"How did you manage to heal yourself?"

She chuckled slightly as her hands slowly moved to the covers around her legs. Pulling them down to reveal her legs, she rolled up the hem of her linen nightgown. The sight made Dorian feel queasy.

Running nearly the entire length of her thigh was a purplish scar. While it maintained the appearance of any ordinary razor cut marks, it was so much more grotesque. Without proper healing, the scar had festered, and judging from the swollen mounds dotting the snakelike scar, Dorian could only guess that she had tried to scratch it off. Perhaps she still did.

"I never truly healed it," whispered Kyra as she stared at her leg. "Even after studying at the college, there is no magic to cure scars. I had wrapped it with some rags from my bed and washed it with a small amount of the water that the guards had given me, but even then I emptied most of the water into a flask. I would need it for my escape. Anyways, when the guards came into the basement that night, they were drunker than I had ever seen them before. Two passed out only moments after reaching the bottom of the stairs, and the other two approached a training dummy, mistaking it for me. While one still tried to feel up the dummy, the other eventually found me in my usual position on the floor. When he forced himself onto me, I drew the dagger from within the linen bunched on my leg and slit his throat. His gurgling blood poured onto me, but I didn't care. In fact, it was exhilarating. When I went to the second conscious guard, he tried to hit me when he saw that I was standing. My blade met his hand in midair and took it clean off. Should I spare you the gory details?"

"Never,"

"Good. The guard began to scream, and to keep him from alerting any others, I stuffed his severed hand down his throat to keep him quiet. While he choked on his own hand, I chained one of his arms to the wall and carved my name into it with the dagger, just to remind him of who I was. It was so beautiful, the way that the dagger's kiss so easily coaxed the blood out of him. So I wrote my name again on his forehead this time. I think he died somewhere in that time frame."

"And what about those other two?"

"Their deaths weren't quite as extravagant, I'm afraid. I could already hear stirring upstairs from others who had been roused by the guard's screams, so I hurriedly grabbed my belongings, stole the armor off of the dead guards, and took their supplies as well. On my way out, I rolled one guard onto the other and impaled them both together with their own swords. I managed to slip out silently through my usual exit, and never looked back as I ran to make one more stop."

"Where did you go?"

"I went to pay my mother a visit. She had made enough money through her plunders to buy a pathetic-looking shack out by the docks. When I went inside, she was sitting on the edge of her bed drinking tea, as if she had been expecting me. I remember hiding the dagger behind my back as she told me in great detail about how she had never wanted me, and how much better her life had been once she had sold me. I never spoke a word to her until she had finished her story. She told me, 'I suppose that since you've escaped, it means the guards are dead. That means I'll have to finish you off myself. It is no matter, though. I should have killed you a long time ago."

"…Wow. What did you do?"

"I told her, 'Yes, you should have," and threw the dagger across the room right into her throat. She stayed alive long enough to watch me pull the dagger from her chest, slice off both of her infamously nimble hands, throw them into the fire, take all of her gold and weapons, and then light the bedsheets as I threw them onto the wooden floor. I crossed the river and watched her house burn from the other side, listening to her screams."

"And then?"

"Then I became a hero."

"So you went from a rogue to a mage? How did you manage that?"

"I was a warrior in between that. In Skyrim, specializations are much less particular. In order to keep myself alive, I had to be proficient in all three. In fact, I still am."

"Then why were you so shaken up about losing your magic if you still have the other skills?"

"Magic is what saved me. It is what brought me up from nothingness to the ranks of godhood. I'm not just talking about casting spells, but the Thu'um. Using the daggers and the arrows reminds me so much of those days long ago, and to brandish a sword makes me feel like just another Nord charging headlong into battle for glory. I am no common criminal, and I am no regular Nord. I am the Dovahkiin, and it is magic that makes me that."

Kyra examined her fingers as she talked. They were rough and calloused from brandishing blades and flames. She wondered if they would still work as nimbly as they used to in this state. It had been so long since she had last tried to pick open a lock. She asked tentatively, "Dorian?"

"Yes, Kyra?"

"Do you know of any places with locked doors around Skyhold?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, there are the cells in the basement. We have a prisoner or two down there, but I believe that-"

"Take me there."

"I can't have you freeing prisoners, Kyra. The Inquisitor would kill both of us if she found out."

"I don't want to free the prisoners, Dorian. I want to open a lock."

"But you just said that-"

"I am powerless here without my magic. Reminiscing the past won't change that. Recalling my former skills however, will." She hopped from the bed, still clad in her nightgown, and motioned for him to come show her the way.

"Do you even have a lockpick?" Dorian asked.

She pouted her lips for a moment before her eyes landed on the rubble from where the door had toppled over. Reaching down, she pulled off a piece of wood and then scraped it on the wall until it formed a small point. Holding it up for him to see, she smiled playfully and began to walk off.

"Wait!" yelled Dorian. As he stalked after girl, he noticed for the first time how young she actually was. Despite the scars on her body and the callouses on her hands, her face still held all of the innocence of a young girl. The moonlight danced on her back and the grass quivered beneath her toes as she skipped aimlessly down the steps. She forgot what it meant to be Dragonborn. She forgot what Tamriel was. She forgot the Kyra of the present. She was Kyra of the past; a fresh-faced lass with a killer aim and the quickest fingers of any who lived on the earth.


End file.
